


Burnt Sausages and Crocs

by deadlynerd



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Australia, Crocs, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Gen, umm...barbecues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 05:28:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2839724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlynerd/pseuds/deadlynerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas in Australia and Laura's invited Carmilla to celebrate it with the Hollis family at the annual beach barbecue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burnt Sausages and Crocs

**Author's Note:**

> So I wanted to write something to contribute to all the festive spirit in the fandom and to wish all you beautiful creampuffs a MERRY CHRISTMAS! But when I tried to think of something Christmas-sy like building snow men or ice-skating or even getting a tree I realised I just couldn't write it. I've simply never had any experience of any of these things as I have never had a white Christmas! So I decided to write about how we celebrate the occasion Down Under. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy and apologies for the (probably numerous) typos!

It’s a beautiful Christmas Day, illuminated in golden streaks of sunlight and your vampire is refusing to emerge from her bed to confront the occasion.

“No. No. I’m not going cutie.”

“Pleeeaasseee Carm? For me?”

(Carmilla merely buries her head under the yellow pillow.)

“No.”

“I’ll make it worth your while!”

“Cupcake, you really are going to have to make it up to me if I go to this godforsaken Christmas beach barbecue.”

The annual Hollis Christmas Barbecue is a family tradition that you are determined to make Carmilla attend.

(If only so that Carmilla can offer a much needed distraction from the sight of sagging aunts in Santa themed bikinis and uncles proudly displaying beer guts.)

Sure the two of you may have to endure frosty glances and passive aggressive comments from your Aunt Rachel about husbands and boyfriends, but you feel that if you have Carm by your side, it may just be bearable this year. Perhaps even fun.

“So...that’s a yes then?”

“Only if you wear a skimpy bikini and promise to lather me with SPF 50+. Vampires don’t tan well, sun dance.”

You decide to refrain from mentioning that Carmilla should have chosen a colder place to live if she hated the sun so much and instead squeal and begin to jump around the room like the excited child you are. Carmilla watches you languidly, emerging from underneath the pillow.

“I better not regret this, buttercup”

You laugh quietly to yourself then because she has no idea what the annual Hollis family barbecue entails.

\---

Christmas morning with Carmilla (once she dragged herself out of bed) has been more magical then you could ever have imagined.

At heart, the big, bad vampire was a romantic and she had given you her battered, heavily annotated copy of “to the Lighthouse” (“the first book I read after I got out of that lovely coffin. To say I was shocked at the writing style would be an understatement”) and a delicate, fire opal necklace.

In return, you’d given her a new pair of leather pants and a framed photo of the two of you. (Carmilla is gazing at you in wonder as you smile at the camera on a clear, summer morning.) Your gifts aren’t as extravagant as hers, but you can see by the choked way she thanks you, that they mean the world to her.

And then Carmilla decides to put on a slow version of _Last Christmas_ and twirl you around the room.

However, the two of you cannot dance to the end of the song; such is the thickness of the Australian heat. Both of you collapse, side by side onto your bed, spreading out limbs in a desperate attempt to cool down.

Occasionally, Carmilla reaches over to take a finger, a hand or whatever she can get to and kisses it gently. Maybe this isn’t your usual Christmas morning with your dad, but lying next to her in the heat, feeling her touch- it could be heaven.

Unfortunately, the barbecue calls and so you reluctantly pull away from the bed after an age of lying down.

“Carm. Get up! We have a barbecue to get to!”

“So long as I don’t have to help with the snags or wear crocs, I’ll keep my word creampuff.”

“Crocs…well…my dad…”

“Hmmm, this could be a deal breaker cutie. You’ll have to up my eventual reward.”

In saying so, she leans forward and kisses you softly.

What starts off as a relatively chaste kiss begins to gain in intensity as you run your hands up and under her thin shirt and towards her bra. Her hands are tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as her tongue brushes against your lips.

When she eventually moves away, you’re breathless and dizzy, flushed from head to foot with her taste.

She pulls you closer for an instance and whispers seductively in your ear:

“I’ll go get into my bikini then, buttercup.”

She moves away from you to begin rummaging through drawers and you are frozen for a second, brain unresponsive.

Eventually you shake yourself all over, like a character from a cartoon and distract yourself from the stupor that Carmilla has momentarily incited within you. You jump out of bed, ready for Christmas.

\---

“It’s lovely to meet you Carmilla. You must be Laura’s friend from University!”

Carmilla shoots you a pleading look over your Aunt Rachel’s shoulder and tries her best to smile. It comes out as a slightly menacing grimace as Carmilla bears her teeth uncomfortably, and you quickly begin to shake your head at Carmilla, gesturing her to _change her facial expression now._

You distantly hear Carmilla reply, “Yes, a very _special_ friend,” to your frigid, conservative aunt and sighing slightly you turn back to your Dad. (He’s proudly wearing a pair of fluorescent green crocs as he reads instructions on how to cook sausages- every year he burns them and every year, the Hollis clan eat charred sausages.)

He’d been watching Carmilla and Aunt Rachel with some amusement.

“I’ll tell you what Laura. If your girlfriend can survive trial by Aunt Rachel, she has my blessing to be with you.”

“Daaaddd…” You groan, blinking rapidly. (You’d accidently caught sight of free-spirited Aunt Willow, who was currently performing some sort of nature dance. In the middle of the beach. In a bikini that showed too much skin for her forty years.)

Trying your best to erase the mental picture now burned behind your eyelids, you focus on your father once more.

“I- I mean, she’s been really good to me Dad. So…give her a chance, yeah?”

“Of course I will Laura.” He laughs quietly to himself and you uneasily wonder what he has in store for the rest of the day

\---

Carmilla manages to escape from Aunt Rachel relatively quickly- an incredible feat in itself. It makes you worry what she could have said that would allow her to escape Rachel’s clutches…

The vampire moves towards you, and to your chagrin you see that she is already beginning to sunburn.

Reaching you, Carmilla wordlessly hands you a bottle of SPF 50+ and you begin to rub it onto her back, taking your time to massage it into her shoulder blades, the small of her back. She shudders as you graze the side of her neck with a light finger.

“Thanks cupcake…” she purrs, preventing your hands from wandering further down her back. You smile at her gratefully, aware of the suspicious glances Rachel is throwing the two of you.

But you forget Aunt Rachel, distracted utterly by Carmilla’s beauty. By the sight of her in a black bikini. You become lost for a second in her eyes (as cliché as it sounds), drawn into those dark depths and drowning, drowning-

“Hey cuz. We’re playing some volleyball. You up for it?”

Your burly cousin Paul bounces over to you, interrupting whatever it was Carmilla was doing to you with those _goddamn_ seduction eyes.

You look over at him in surprise. You’re notoriously bad at beach volleyball and your klutzy nature has resulted in horrific injury to the great majority of the Hollis family.

“And umm…your girlfriend or whatever should play too.” He leers slightly at Carmilla, who glares back. Understanding floods you, followed by disgust at that _asshole’s_ nerve.

Not bothering to wait for your reply, Paul wanders back down the beach towards the volleyball nets and begins to goof around with some of the other cousins.

Meanwhile, Carmilla turns back to you, evidently hoping to pick up where you had left off when you find yourself saying:

“Do you want to play?”

And that is how you, Laura Hollis, the curse of volleyball teams due to your lack of hand-eye coordination and ability to whack everything other than the ball, end up winning. Actually winning.

Carmilla, it turns out, is amazing at volleyball. This should hardly surprise you- she is cheating by using her vampire strength and speed to kick stupid cousin Paul’s overly muscled ass- but there’s still something oh so amazing at seeing the look of shock and disappointment on Paul’s face.

(Carmilla lobs the ball directly into his nose and wins the match.)

You feel your love for her stretching around you as you watch her flip the finger at Paul, smirking. She’s so goddamn beautiful and it’s so amazing to have a talented, _wonderful_ girlfriend like her who can defend your honour- can defeat douchebags for you.

You cannot help yourself- you run up to her and kiss her gently.

She blushes. Actually _blushes._

(Both of you ignore the wolf-whistles from your _cousins._ Your own _cousins._ )

However, Carm is soon exhausted by the heat and insists that she needs to cool off in the shade.

You coyly suggest that this is the perfect moment for her to take an afternoon swim with you but she mumbles something about “not mixing well with water” (Carmilla is, you remind yourself, a cat) and goes to read Nietzsche under a fig tree, curling up beneath its gigantic roots.

While you keep an eye out for blue bottles and jump over and between waves with some of your less-douchey cousins, you glance back at Carmilla.

She’s put her book down and is in deep conversation with one of your youngest cousins, Cameron.

From this distance you can _just_ see her move over to him and begin to help him craft a sandcastle.

Your heart begins to swell, and so does the sea because the next thing you know you’re falling backwards- hit in the face by a gigantic wave that surely came out of nowhere.

After that, you begin to lose track of time, waging a battle against the waves, dancing between them, hurling seaweed at cousins, wiping the salt off your tongue. When you eventually emerge, the sun is beginning its descent and Carmilla is helping your Dad with the sausages. (Despite her best efforts, they’re still going to be burnt.)

Someone, god knows who, has managed to get Carmilla to wear a Santa hat. As you draw closer to your father and Carm, unnoticed by the both of them, fragments of conversation begin to dance through the hot summer air.

“I see the way you look at her…

Do you…?”

“…I do sir”

“You seem like a fine young woman…”

They both trail off when they see you and Carmilla gives you a big, unguarded smile, waving a spatula at you in greeting.

You almost faint when you look down at her feet and see that your father has managed to convince her to wear a pair of _Australian flag crocs._ Oh dear Lord…

Your father watches her with affection and you think that you might explode from the joy of it all.

Interlacing your fingers with hers, you lean against her, drenching her with salt water. It’s a symbol of how much she loves you, that she doesn’t pull away from your wet self but rather pulls you closer, drawing you into her chest.

A deep throaty chuckle rumbles from your father as he watches the two of you.

“Well thank you for all your help, Carmilla. I think I’ll leave you to enjoy your Christmas with my lovely daughter now though. I have these sausages under control.”

You frown slightly in concern, because you know that he really _doesn’t_ have the sausages under control, but then Carm murmurs:

“Thank you sir…” and begins to pull you towards the fig tree she was resting under earlier.

\---

You and Carmilla have been sitting under the tree for an age, not talking. Her arm is wrapped around your and your head is resting against her shoulder. The two of you watch your family, talking, laughing, swimming, dancing (in Aunt Willow’s case, naked dancing) and building small sandcastles.

“It’s entirely too hot, creampuff and half of your cousins are lackwits, but…I’m glad I’m spending Christmas with you, Laura.”

You look up at her and she pulls you closer to kiss again.

Maybe you don’t have mistletoe to kiss under in Australia, but surely a fig tree is an ample substitute?

The kiss inevitably deepens and you feel like you’re on fire, that you’re going to combust into a thousand tiny fragments of what once was Laura Hollis, only able to be constructed again by Carmilla Karnstein, because she is _there,_ filling you up, burning you up and-

You hear a “humph” of disapproval and you look up to see Aunt Rachel glaring down at the two of you. Reluctantly moving back from Carm, you glare back at her, and then, in an uncharacteristic move flip her off.

“Wha-…Laura…I…”

She sounds like she is choking on her homophobia and Carmilla chuckles darkly as Aunt Rachel turns bright red and walks away with a look of outrage on her face. You feel a glorious swooping sensation, satisfaction at finally having defeated the frigid, conservative, bitc-

- _perhaps Carmilla has begun to rub off on you_ …you think uneasily.

“Everything okay creampuff?”

You gaze back at her and smile, because everything is _better than okay._

\---

The sausages were burnt, as anyone could have predicted but as you eat them, watching the setting sun with Carmilla and breathing in the briny sea breeze, you cannot imagine anything better.

Your father raises a beer and all around you your family, Carmilla, Aunt Willow, Aunt Rachel, Paul, Bianca, Max, even your ageing Grandmother, raise their beers in response.

“To a very Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year!”

Whoops and cheers ring out from the Hollis clan as they clink their beers together. “Merry Christmas” rings out and Carmilla turns you towards her and crashes her beer soaked lips onto yours, and you’ve never really been a fan of beer until that moment.

(Burnt sausages, beer and Carmilla…surely the taste of love)

The celebrations continue into the night, presents being exchanged at various intervals. You’re delighted to find out that Carmilla got your dad a pair of black crocs, because anything beats his fluorescent green pair.

You’re less amused when you realise that surprise! She got you another Christmas present…and it’s…a pair of crocs. Yay.

But when your father gives Carmilla a wide-brimmed hat and a pair of Haviannas and you see her spluttering out her thanks, you realise that this is what Christmas is all about. Not about the presents, not about the horrible beach games or the frigid aunts, but about the feeling of _family._ It didn’t even have to be blood relation, you realise. It was just the _spirit_ of the occasion, that feeling of connectedness you felt with everyone as you clinked beers, forced down burnt sausages and shouted into the sunset.

Christmas Day, an occasion of sun shine, waves and laughter. God how you love it, and god how you love that Carmilla is there with you to share it all!

She murmurs a soft “Merry Christmas” in your ear and you turn to kiss her again, because you’ve moved under a fig tree and kissing is now compulsory.

She smiles against your mouth and you know that you wouldn’t have your Christmas any other way.

\---

As the night progresses, many of your relatives become more drunk then you care to witness.

(Aunt Willow really needs to be under constant supervision, this is getting ridiculous.)

Carmilla has downed at least four beers, but still seems to be perfectly sober, whereas you are a _tiny_ bit tipsy from the smidgeon of beer you’d snuck from Carmilla’s bottle.

Someone decided to bring outdoor speakers with horribly overplayed Christmas carols and Carmilla grins and tugs you onto the dark beach to whirl around to _Jingle Bell Rock_. She’s singing along, softly under her breath and you almost faint, incapacitated by an angelic voice.

“Are you an angel, Carm?” You whisper to her.

She merely grins at you and tugs you closer to her.

And so for the second time that day, you and Carmilla dance and lose yourselves in one another. Chest to chest, face to face. You can feel your connection stretching between you, a golden thread encircling the two of you, wrapping you around her.

When the song changes to _Last Christmas,_ your wild dancing slows into the waltz of earlier in the day. This time, the two of you are able to make it through the entirety of the song.

( _I’ll give it to someone special…)_

When Carmilla dips you flawlessly at the end of the song, you lean up and kiss her because _dear God_ you’ve given your heart away and it truly is to someone oh so precious…

\---

It’s midnight and you’ve eaten the last of the horrible bread rolls that your father had thrown your way.

Their cardboard taste is quickly washed away however, when Carmilla gives you another fig tree kiss.

(She’s done this constantly throughout the night- who knew that this new tradition would be such a success?)

When your eyelids begin to flutter against your cheekbones, Carmilla declares that it is “passed your bedtime” and begins to lead you away from the celebrations.

You pause to say goodbye to your family, hugging your Dad tight.

He murmurs:  
“I really like her, Laura.” And you feel like skipping with joy,

As you walk away you glance back over your shoulder and see a moment frozen in time, a small vignette of Carmilla in a Santa hat, laughing with your family on a hot, summer’s day.

\---

When you reach home, Carmilla leans against the bed, utterly spent.

“Cutie, I’ve endured unimaginable pain and suffering throughout my three hundred and thirty-four years of existence. But that really took the cupcake. Please, _please_ never ask me to do that again.”

(You decide to tease her, because you know that despite the apathetic mask, Carmilla loved every moment of Christmas with the Hollis Family.)

“Oh…umm…we have one of those every Christmas. And um…every Australia Day…and at Easter and…”

Carmilla groans and flops back onto your bed- a big, bad vampire defeated by crocs and burnt sausages.

But then she perks up.

“Didn’t you say something about making it worth my while, creampuff?”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So there it is...thank you so much for reading and have a great Christmas :)


End file.
